Princess of Panem Beauty Pageant
by innermuse
Summary: After Seneca fails to give Snow a victor, he has to come up with an idea to replace the Victory Tour. This is his idea. These are the new tributes. The winner will be named the Princess of Panem, but the contestants have no idea just how important 'winning' will be.
1. Introduction: The Beautiful Idea

President Snow stared at the screen in shock. He had just witnessed something that had never happened in Panem history before. Two tributes had died at the same time. In and of itself, this was not entirely unordinary—it was the Hunger Games, after all. But this was different. This was bad. Because now there was no victor of the 71st Hunger Games.

Everyone was dead.

The President quickly made it to the Gamemaker Central. It was in chaos. The Gamemakers were rushing around, flipping through papers, making frantic phone calls. And then Snow saw the man he was looking for and barked out, "Crane!"

The room went ghostly silent. Seneca whirled around, and, knowing that he could not refuse the President, reluctantly walked up to him.

Snow's face was like stone. "Crane, a word if you please," he said. The two men stepped a little bit out of the room to give themselves some privacy.

"Your Honor, I am terribly sorry that this happened," Seneca immediately began speaking, "I swear it was an accident and it won't happen again."

"Oh, it won't." Snow drew a tad closer, his eyes boring into Seneca. "This is your first year as Gamemaker, and I believe you still show much promise. A just president would have you executed immediately…" As Seneca stared at his president in horror, Snow paused to let it sink into this bastard's mind, how serious this was.

Then he continued, "But I am not entirely just."

"Sir?" Seneca stammered.

"I am not going to kill you, Seneca," Snow said, "unless this happens again."

"Thank you, Presid—" Seneca began.

Snow leaned in, a fierce spark in his eye. "But now I need you to come up with a punishment for me."

"President, I'm not quite sure I understand you," Seneca said.

"You know we usually have the Victory Tour halfway through the year, during the winter, to remind the districts of the Games constantly, letting it stay in the back of their minds always. Keeping them docile?" President Snow shook his head. "With the stunt those two girls pulled, we now have no Victory Tour. Nothing to remind the districts." Seneca noticed a hint of fear in Snow's voice as he finished, "Nothing to keep them from starting a rebellion."

"I understand," Seneca said with a respectful nod. "How soon do you want an idea?"

Snow fixed Seneca's tie for him, tightening it until he was almost choked. "As soon as possible, Mr. Crane." And with that, the President strolled off to his room.

* * *

Seneca shifted nervously in his seat in the conference room. He was about to present his idea for the perfect punishment to keep the districts in line. Was it just him, or was the room very warm? He pulled uncomfortably on his shirt collar.

"Mr. Crane," Snow said from his place at the head of the table, "will now present his idea. I'm sure it will be fantastic." Seneca could almost hear him saying, _It had better be fantastic._

Seneca stood up as the rest of the Gamemakers gave small claps. The lights in the room dimmed and a large screen slid down from the ceiling and rested on the wall. Seneca pressed the button in his hand, and his first slide came up. It had the pictures of the girls who had ended up being the final two.

"I'm sure you all recognize these faces," Seneca began. "These are the two girls, both of which _almost_ became this year's victor. Unfortunately, by some strange twist of circumstance beyond our control, they both died at the exact same moment." He paused and flipped to the next slide, which showed pictures of both of them absolutely shining in their interview gowns. "As you can see, they were both quite beautiful and popular with the public, idolized even."

Next slide. The two girls were waving to the public on the chariots, looking absolutely stunning. The audience, in reply, was screaming and throwing roses to them. They were absolutely smitten by the girls' beauty and personality.

"My plan," said Seneca, "is the ideal way to combine a punishment for the districts and the appeal of beautiful tributes to the audience." Seneca looked at the people around the table. He could tell the other Gamemakers were hanging off of his every word, and even Snow looked intrigued.

"Gentlemen, ladies, and Your Honor..." He smiled, and the brightness came back into his blue eyes as he said, "We are holding a beauty pageant."

* * *

In replacement of the Victory Tour, this year we are holding a new one-time competition: the Princess of Panem Beauty Pageant! Sign up your district girls (sorry gents) for this contest of skill, popularity, and talent! It will be required viewing.

Contestants will be chosen at random draw. Any girl from age 12 to 18 will be included in the draw, although only one girl from each district will be allowed to come. _No volunteers will be allowed!_

The lucky girls will be judged both by our panel of esteemed evaluators, known as the Beautymakers, as well as by the votes of the Capitol public. The twelve contestants (one from each district) will be judged in the following categories:

beauty,

talent,

popularity,

_and _a top secret category, to be revealed later in the contest!

Please keep up to date to find out which one of the twelve selected girls will become the first _Miss Panem_!


	2. District 1: Sapphire Rhodes

**Innermuse A/N:** _First chapter! Agh! *dies of happiness* Okay, so check out my profile to become acquainted with the voting system, to be used in later chapters.  
And another note for everyone who submitted a tribute: I forgot to put this on the original submission form, but I need you to send me a talent that your character has, preferably one that can be performed on stage (everyone except the makers of the girls from Districts 6, 10, and 11... I already have plans for you three... Mwahaha!).  
And congratulations to XxFleurxX, who submitted today's lucky potential Miss Panem. Now onto the story! Let's get acquainted to Sapphire Rhodes of District 1! _

_Breathe._

That's all I thought as I stood there. _Breathe and wait._

I was rocking slightly from side to side. A single droplet of sweat trailed its way down my face. My eyebrows were furrowed and I stared hard at the door that my next opponent would step out of in a moment. Whoever it was, they should have been tough, or strong, or skilled.

But they weren't.

They sent a little girl out to fight me. She was definitely a training novice; tiny and no more than eleven or twelve. I had never seen her before, and her eyes grew wide when she saw me. I didn't even try to hide my smirk; I was tall, strong, and very experienced. This mock duel was as good as over.

Both she and I had been equipped with long, thin sticks. They weren't bladed, and I had always thought that was stupid. How are we supposed to get a genuine feel for weapons if we only have these dumb little twigs to battle with?

The trainer stood on the sidelines, and I almost laughed at his facial expression. He almost looked more worried than the kid! "Remember," he said, repeating the same rules I had heard so many times, "the point of this exercise is _not_ to injure your opponent. The point is to get your opponent into a position where you could easily kill them if you had blades. Begin after the bell sounds, and heed the referee. Good luck, trainees."

The kid and I stood there for a second, and then we heard the bell. Neither I nor the kid made any immediate attack. I realized instantly that she hoped to take a defensive position, perhaps to dodge my attacks. She was small—therefore, she was most likely faster and more agile than me. I would only defeat her with strength and intimidation.

I instantly snapped into talking, one of my favorite ways to start a fight. It was distracting to the opponent, and sometimes even made them believe you were weak or didn't intend to try very hard to hurt them. I relaxed my position to holding my stick in just my left hand, spreading my legs a little wider, and slapping a friendly smile on my face. "You're new, aren't you, kid?" I said, trying to sound sympathetically.

"And you're not new," she replied instantly.

I gave a small chuckle. So she was quick-witted; how charming. Too bad I'd have to beat her sorry butt. "No, I'm not," I said. "What's your name?"

"Kyra," she said. I noticed her position relaxing. I strode up to her, slowly, not at all intimidating.

"I'm Sapphire Rhodes," I said, "And since you're new here, I'll tell you something you'll find useful in the future." With one swift movement, I brought the stick hard down on her shoulder, right by her neck. The girl instantly crumpled like a rag doll. I loomed over her triumphantly.

"Just so you know," I said, "if that was a sword, you would have no head right now." And with that, I shouldered my staff and left the training room.

When I got home, no one was there, as usual. My parents were always out getting themselves drunk or something. To be honest, I didn't know what they did all day and night, but I hardly ever saw them. I had learned from a young age to stand up for myself—and I had the scars to prove it.

_Time to change for this stupid Pageant selection,_ I thought. I cringed at the idea. A beauty pageant to replace the Victory Tour! As I went about prettying myself up, I laughed to myself about how dumb it was. I would much rather be part of the actual Games than this. Besides, next year I planned to volunteer; sure, I'd have plenty of competition, but I had something those other sunny blondes didn't have.

Substance.

But the image in the mirror after I was done dressing told a different story. I wore tight black wool leggings and gray ankle boots. A bright red slouchy t-shirt topped the ensemble. My lips were dark red and stood out like a ruby. I almost fooled myself into thinking I was all looks and no skill.

But only almost.

Smirking, I swept out the door into the street, slamming the door behind me.

It was like reaping day, only more chaotic. Only girls were in the center of the square, sorted into their age groups, and they were all chatting and squealing. I walked over to the area with seventeen year olds and stood there alone, arms crossed. The other girls near me inched the tiniest bit away, and I smirked. I think I either scared or repulsed the other girls, but that was fine by me. At least I wasn't a Barbie doll.

I looked up at the stage as our official escort from the Capitol approached the microphone. I didn't recognize her; she was dressed all in pink and had a strange white wig on. She had a huge smile on her face, and even had a somewhat proud look in her eyes; I suppose she was pleased to be in one of the richest districts, hosting the selection for one of the most-anticipated events of the year.

The ceremony was actually extremely short. Our escort, who turned out to be named Effie Trinket, simply said a short speech with a few lame jokes in it, and then, she walked over to the glass ball that held the slips with the names of all the eligible girls in the District.

The girls all around me were clutching at each other, silent as the grave. Some were even bouncing in anticipation. No doubt they were all hoping it was their name that would be drawn. I was probably the only person in the entire crowd who wasn't bubble-headed and stupid.

Effie dug her manicured hand into the ball and pulled out a slip. She took her time walking back to the microphone and a few girls around me let out tiny squeaks, as if they could hardly contain themselves. I rolled my eyes; why did I get stuck in such a ditzy district? Why, did they think that all Capitol-related events were all about looks? Personally, I was smart, holding out for the actual Games next year when I would—

"Sapphire Rhodes!" Effie yelled.

My head snapped up. Me?

The other girls were focused on me, all extremely jealous-looking. A few were crying.

It _was _me. I muttered a curse under my breath, knowing that none of those other idiots in the crowd were allowed to volunteer, and made my way up to the stage.

_Oh well, _I thought as the Capitol anthem played above me, _I guess I'll just have to win this, come back, and then win the Games, too._ A slow smile formed on my face. _Now that I think about it, that's not so bad at all._


	3. District 2: Camilla Valentina Juleius

**Innermuse A/N:** _Chapter 3 already! I've been working overtime, guys. ^_^ Please review! I love love LOVE having your feedback! Congratulations to the maker of today's tribute, thgultimatefan19. Now give a warm welcome to the District 2 contestant, Camilla Valentina Juleius!_

I woke up to the screaming of my younger brothers. "Cammie! Get up!"

"Why?" I moaned, turning over in my bed onto my stomach and placing the pillow over my head. (And this was a _receptive_ morning for me.)

I heard the chuckling before one of them squeaked out delightedly, "No reason!"

What? They woke me up for no reason? Oh, they were going to pay. I leapt up out of bed, my Career training instinctively coming to mind, and seized a handful of darts from the target tacked up on my wall. The twins instantly took off at a run, screaming with laughter. If they were in the Hunger Games they'd be dead in seconds.

I skidded down the hallway as they made a beeline for their bedroom. I threw a dart with purposefully bad aim so it whizzed over their heads and stuck to the wall. They each shrieked and, all the merriment gone from the chase, slammed their bedroom door behind them. I was going so fast I almost crashed into it myself, but I managed to stop.

"Come out here so I can throw these darts at you!" I yelled through their door.

No reply.

Smiling, I started to work. I pinned the darts onto their door, spelling something out. When I was done, I stood back and smiled. This would give the little creeps the worries. The darts read, _Watch your backs_.

Suddenly, my mom appeared right beside me at the top of the stairs. I nearly jumped three feet in the air. How was she so stealthy all the time?

Unfortunately for me, my mom was in no happy mood today.

"What are you doing with those darts?" she asked, eyes blazing.

"Uh..." I glanced apprehensively at the dart message on the twins' door. "I'm practicing?"

"You have to stop threatening your brothers! They're only children!" Mom exclaimed, voice rising.

"They're going to be threatened a lot worse than that when they reach the Hunger Games! Why not learn to deal with it now?" I retorted.

"They might not get the chance to reach the Games if you're always throwing pointed objects at them," Mom said hotly.

"I purposely missed them!" I said.

Mom narrowed her eyes, still displeased. "I don't care. If I had my way, you'd never throw a dart at all, let alone train, but your father..." She shook her head. "Go get dressed for the selection ceremony."

"Uh, Mom," I said, trying not to laugh, "You may not have noticed, but it's snowing outside. The Hunger Games only happen in the summer."

"I am fully aware of that," she said, "But what about the Beauty Pageant? The selection for our district's representative is today."

Immediately all thoughts of how much I wanted to kill my brothers disappeared. The Pageant! How could I have forgotten! I had been so excited since it had been announced, how could I have forgotten it was today? I turned on my heels without answering my mom, closed my bedroom door behind me, and attacked my closet.

After digging around for acceptable clothes frantically, I pulled a thin lavender top with ruffles on the neckline and sleeves from the heap of crumpled laundry. It was really a spring shirt, but it was my best-looking piece of clothing. I would put up with the cold today; had to make a good first impression!

I selected a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans and my favorite pair of tall, warm winter boots that were ermine fur on the inside.

I turned to hair and makeup. I decided to let my naturally voluminous pale-blonde curls go free today, and added just a bit of mascara to accentuate my eyes, which are naturally an amazing blue-violet color. They're definitely my best asset.

When I stand before the mirror, I look beautiful and girly. Exactly the angle I want to have if I get chosen for the Pageant. After all, I've always been a good liar.

I went downstairs for breakfast and began eating delicately. Dad had made ham and eggs, knowing that that was my favorite kind of meat. The twins rumbled down the staircase and plunked themselves down on their seats.

The level of noise rose exponentially within about six seconds.

Above all that shouting, I heard the doorbell ring. "One of you go get the door!" I yelled. Both of them zipped off at top speed, breakfast suddenly forgotten.

I dug back into my eggs and ham, and listened to the sound of the door being opened and the twins saying, "What do you want?" in unison.

"I was wondering if your sister is here," answered the voice. And then my heart stopped, and I spat the ham back onto my plate. It was Leo!

I could just imagine him giving his gorgeous smile as he said, "Can I come in?"

The twins giggled, "Okay," and opened the door farther, and I heard Leo step inside. The twins came dashing into the kitchen ahead of him, and I dumped my plate into the sink quickly. He was _not_ going to think I was a pig.

Then I turned around, and Leo walked into the room.

He was hot, just like last time, with dark brown hair spiked up a little at the front, and eyes as dark and warm as hot cocoa. He was like chocolate: you always got a smile on your face just thinking about him.

"Hey, Cammie," he said, smiling. Oh my gosh, he was freaking beautiful.

"Hey," I answered, totally cool and collected, but grinning like an idiot.

"Were you planning to go to the selection today?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, excitement rising up in me like a big balloon. "Why do you ask?" I added playfully.

"No real reason," he said, almost in a teasing tone. "Would you like to walk there with me?"

"Sure!" I said instantly. "Let's go."

Him and I both walked to the door. I turned to my brothers sweetly; couldn't have Leo thinking I was as nasty as a troll's grandmother. "Could you two tell mom that I left early?"

The boys exchanged a mischievious glance. "We will tell her you left with your boyfriend," they said impishly.

I was sure I was blushing like crazy, but I kept my cool. "Five bucks if you leave out the boyfriend part," I reasoned.

The boys considered this offer, and then bargained, "Five dollars each."

"Done." I opened the door and Leo and I walked onto the patio, leaving with the sound of my twin brothers high-fiving.

Our walk together was too perfect.

The colors were too mellow and muffled, the atmosphere too serene, the snowfall so gentle. It was like a picture. It was like it had been contrived specifically for romance. I wondered if they had a machine in the Capitol like that, and smiled the tiniest bit at the idea.

_The Romance Machine! Come all lovers and submit your ideas of the perfect amorous situation! We'll make sure the colors are perfectly blended, the smells are seductive, and that you look absolutely irresistible! Credit cards are accepted, and..._

"Penny for your thoughts?" Leo said suddenly. I looked at him, blushing like crazy. What a time for him to ask! I quickly came up with something.

"I was just thinking that this doesn't even look real."

"You're right." Leo looked around him, at the road stretching ahead of us. "It's like a picture."

"Exactly!" I was delighted; it was like he could read my thoughts. We were even more compatible than I had thought. I decided to focus the conversation on him. "So, what are you thinking?"

He suddenly stopped. I had so much momentum that I had to jerk myself to a halt and turn around to face him. He looked right into my eyes. I stared back, caught up in his eyes that were so warm compared to our surroundings.

"You want to know what I'm thinking?" he asked.

Unable to form words, I nodded. And then he leaned in, and his lips touched mine. Breathless, I kissed him back. The kiss was simple, not too flashy or passionate or anything, but it was just like everything else that had happened since I had walked out my front door this morning.

Like a picture.

I held hands with Leo all the way to the square. Under the shadow cast by the mountain where all our town's masons went, he helped me find the area for 15 year olds. Giving my hand a last affectionate squeeze before releasing it, he walked off into the crowds.

I could hardly stop myself from squealing. I was completely euphoric. I assumed that the kiss meant we were formally dating. This was the best day ever, the kind of day that could only be made better by one thing.

"The Beauty Pageant," said our Capitol escort, decked out in a fancy dark green and white fur outfit, "is an exciting opportunity for you girls, isn't it?"

The crowd was far less enthusiastic than on regular reaping days, and I was pretty sure I knew why. Most of the girls in District 2 wanted to go to the real Hunger Games... most of them were ugly, too, but that wasn't important right then. I crossed my fingers and stamped my feet a little bit. My breath formed icy clouds, hanging for a few moments in the air after each exhale. Maybe wearing this thin blouse hadn't been a good idea.

The Capitol woman moved toward the glass ball containing the eligible contestants' names. The crowd was holding its breath; no more clouds of air were forming. So the air was very clear when I heard, "Camilla Valentina Juleius!"

And even as I walked up to the stage, I was so breathless that no clouds hung around me at all.


	4. District 3: Angel Plain

**Innermuse A/N:** _Congratulations to ThornyRoseisTrue, who made today's contestant from District 3, Angel Plain! On to the story!_

I woke up knowing right away that I shouldn't have gone to sleep.

My head snapped up from the desk I was sitting at. My back and legs ached, and my neck, too. I pushed back my chair, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light in the room. I whirled around to look at my clock, and nearly jumped out of my skin. Two o'clock in the afternoon! I had sat down at my desk at eleven that morning for some educational reading, and _bam_! Next thing I know I'm waking up three hours later!

I took a moment to calm myself. _It's okay_, I told myself silently, _you can always do some studying after the Pageant selection, even though that's a huge waste of time._

I grabbed the first nice piece of clothing I saw: a plain light blue dress. I decided to just comb my hair and put a little red bow in it. I always wore a red bow in my hair. Grabbing my bag of books and cursing myself for falling asleep, I dashed out the door, down the hall, to the front door, and onto the street.

The selection was in an hour, but nobody was out yet. No doubt they were all studying or working; physical beauty wasn't really important in District 3; it was a sign of unemployment, because it meant you had enough free time to spend on your appearance.

I slowed down when my sides started hurting and just walked the rest of the way to my friend Bolton's house. My older brother Circuit had said I should meet them there, and then I could walk with them to the selection. I had told them that that was a ludicrous suggestion, as our house was closer, but they had just ignored me.

When I went up to Bolton's apartment, I heard the boys before I saw them.

"Calculus is more important to the development of technology!" Circuit was yelling.

I entered Bolton's living room and saw them both standing there, making the exact same motions with their hands at the same time. Bolton answered Circuit's proclamation with, "No, physics is _clearly_ more useful!"

"Calculus!" Circuit insisted.

"Physics!" Bolton yelled.

"Did you know that when you mirror each other's actions, you're actually thinking on the same brain wave?" I interjected, smiling at how silly they were being.

They both gave a start and then glared at me. "You guys are more alike than you think," I continued.

"I," Circuit said, "am nothing like him!"

"As am I!" Bolton agreed.

I shook my head. I had no idea how those two were best friends. They argued 80% of the time, and the other 20% they just read silently beside each other.

"Well, never mind," I said. "I'm here now, so we can go to the square."

"You realize you are late, I presume?" Bolton said.

"Yes, I understand I am somewhat tardy," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "I fell asleep reading about quantum numbers."

"Quantum numbers are fascinating," Bolton said.

"Totally fascinating," Circuit agreed, "except when—"

"Are you kidding?" Bolton exclaimed. "Quantum numbers are exciting all the time!"

"No they're not!"

"Yes they are!"

It was just a typical day in my life.

The boys pretty much argued about math the entire way to the square. I was pretty good at tuning out their quarrels, so I was able to concentrate on my own thoughts.

_Pageants are so incredibly stupid,_ I thought. _They're not even that challenging, or fair. What about girls who aren't attractive, like me, or who are even just average? They don't stand a chance. They've never even stood a chance since birth. If those dim-witted bubble-heads in the Capitol only understand gene transfers and chromosome theory, they would be able to make the competition much fairer._

Now we were in the square. The boys had stopped arguing a few moments ago (they had come to the conclusion that quantum numbers were interesting _most_ of the time), and now we silently filed in. I found an empty space in the lines of twelve year old girls, left just for me. Right in between Kaley Pepper and Rivet Poltergeist. We were all so organized that we sorted ourselves into alphabetical rows of soldier-like silence.

The Capitol woman who was our escort had always hated our District. To her I'm sure we were far too serious and studious; I imagine that, compared to the Capitol, District 3 was quite dull. And from the points of view of the inhabitants of District 3, all Capitol people were total idiots. I shuddered at the thought of how much time they wasted primping when they could be expanding their knowledge.

Then again, with the Hunger Games and all, maybe it was better that they didn't become much smarter.

"Well," chirped our escort dryly, "I suppose I'll just get right to the selections then. I know how you smart people hate wasting time." She narrowed her eyes and selected a slip from the very top of the bowl. To me that was foolish; why not make things more interesting and unpredictable and go for a slip at the bottom? That's what I would have done.

"Angel Plain!"

I blinked. I blinked again. Then I shouted, "What? That's impossible!" The Peacekeepers must have thought I was a troublemaker, and dragged me up onto the stage while I protested, "There must be some mistake!"

"There's no mistake, Angel," said the Capitol woman dryly. "Besides, aren't you excited? You get the chance to visit the Capitol and participate against girls from all over Panem!"

As she rambled on, I looked out at the crowd, I noticed how the people were looking at me: with disgust. To them, my forced participation in this contest was already making me shallow and ditzy. Bolton wasn't even looking at me, when I found him in the crowd; it seemed he had suddenly found his shirt cuff more interesting than quantum numbers.

"It's a wonderful opportunity!" The Capitol woman finished. "After a little time in this pageant, you will be 'plain' no more!"

"I have something to say," I suddenly interrupted her. I walked past her and put myself in front of the microphone. My eyes were welling with tears as I looked out across the sea of people formed by the District I had never left and always loved.

"This contest is important to people," I began, "a lot of people. And I understand that some people believe beauty is the highest achievement possible. Maybe some of the girls from other districts will go there for fame, or to be recognized as beautiful."

I paused to let this sink in. "I am _not_ one of those girls. While I am getting preened and painted and told to act like a beauty queen, remember that I am still one of you. And to me, knowledge, and being kind, and friendship, will always be more important than any Miss Panem banner."

I smiled, half to myself. "I guess that's what I'm going there for; so when I come back after all this is over, I'll know beauty. I'll have touched it. And I'll be better because I'll know that no matter how pretty they can make me..." I took a deep breath, "This life we live here is more important than anything."

The crowd was silent for a split second. Bolton was looking up at me, his shirt sleeve forgotten. And then the whole group assembled there, every person in District 3, raised their hand to their lips, kissed it, and extended it to me.

I had read about this gesture. It was most used in the outermost districts, and it was an ancient gesture of solemn respect for a person.

Tears really were in my eyes now, and they spilled gently over my cheeks.

Abruptly, the Capitol escort shoved me behind her, out of the crowd's sight. "Yes, well, that is the end of our ceremony. Stay tuned and watch the televisions because this will be an event you won't want to miss!"

And with that, I was pushed into the Justice Building, and the doors shut behind me, cutting me off from everything I had ever known.


	5. District 4: Mirage Jenson

**Innermuse A/N:** _So this morning I opened up my inbox and there was a ton of reviews! I was so happy, and I love how supportive and enthusiastic you guys are. Keep it up; these opening chapters can get a little mundane, but I will try to make each character as interesting as possible. (I'm like Cesar Flickerman: trying to show every contestant off to their best advantage!)  
Give it up for Mirage Jenson, character from District 4, submitted by Kyori Uchiha of the Sand!_

I close my eyes and the memory comes back to me, of a time when everything was right.

It was five years ago. It was one of those rare days where none of my brothers or sisters were around, and I could spend one-on-one time with Papa. I remember the river had looked just alive in the haze of the setting sun, like it was on fire. Papa and I were sitting on the banks of the river, shoes off, and hooks with worms somewhere below the surface of the water.

"Papa, I want to be like you someday," I told him.

For some reason, Papa looked at me like he was surprised. "Why?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. I always teased him for their being as bushy as caterpillars.

"Because you're different," I said. "I like how you study butterflies. I want to do that, too."

"Thanks, Mimi," he said, calling me the nickname I loved, "That means a lot to me." In a Career district, where most kids my age were hoping to volunteer for the Hunger Games, I guess it _did_ mean a lot.

We fished on in silence for a little while. Then I asked, "What do you want to do before you die?"

Papa glanced at me again, probably wondering why a twelve-year-old would mention the subject, but he made no comment on that. He only said, "There is a certain kind of butterfly that I've been hunting for my entire career, but I've never seen it. It's called the Gilded Apollo. It's very big, plain black on the undersides of its wings, which is all you see when it's closed, but when it opens, it's wings are pure sparkling gold."

"It sounds really pretty," I said.

Papa smiled. "I'm fond of thinking the creature is a little like you," he said playfully.

"Why?" I said, grinning.

"Well, it's a happy creature, very carefree and happy, like you. And though it might be plain on the outside, on the inside it is gold, even when no one else can see that." Tenderly, Papa pushed a strand of my black hair out of my eyes. "Always be happy, even after I'm gone. I hope you always stay like that, Mimi. Never change."

"I won't," I said.

"Promise?" he said, holding out a thick pinky, a teasing smile curling his lips up.

"Promise," I said, linking my puny finger with his and shaking once, solidly. "And I hope you get to see the butterfly."

But the next day my dear, dear Papa died.

I walked out of the schoolhouse, cheeks flaming, as the kids behind me yelled after me, "Freak!"

Why did they have to be so cruel? Just because they couldn't handle how different I was? So I like butterflies more than slimy fish and I don't want to go into the Hunger Games—big whoop. You'd think I'd betrayed the whole District by the way they acted.

I smiled. Oh well. They didn't know anything. I was still positive that things would look up. Secretly, I hoped that I would get selected to go to the Beauty Pageant in the Capitol. If I won, I would come home with enough riches to support my family _and_ to go to school for butterfly training.

Thank goodness that the selection was today though, because I wasn't sure how much longer I could be optimistic for.

When I got home, the house was strangely quiet. "Mama?" I dumped my books on the kitchen table and paused for a response. Nothing. I was about to run around back and see if they were all outside, but then I saw a slip of paper on the floor. It must have flown off the table when I dropped my books on the table. I stooped, picked it up, and read my mom's writing.

_Mirage,  
The kids and I have gone ahead to the square for the selection. Try not to be late again._

I whirled around and looked at the clock. I _was_ late—typical. I pounded down the patio steps, knowing I didn't have enough time to change. I hurried to the square, doing a quick self-appraisal on the way. Lemon yellow top and gray leggings with vintage black converse shoes: this was truly too casual for the event, but Mama would kill me if I missed the event. Oh well, at least the shoes were funky.

Thankfully, I was fast enough that the selection hadn't even begun. I could only imagine what I looked like; casual clothes and tangled, windswept hair. I was sure I looked terrible compared to the other girls in their fanciest dresses and blouses, hair flawlessly curled and makeup non-smudged.

I slipped into the section for seventeen year olds just as the Capitol escort, a man dressed in frilly purple clothes with garish, tacky makeup stenciled on his pasty face, stepped up to the microphone. He smiled too brightly at the crowd, but I noticed that he spritzed perfume around himself. I snorted in amusement; if he wanted District 4 he should have been ready to take it all—smells included.

He gave a long and flowery speech on the Pageant, what a great opportunity it was and all, but no one was really listening. All the girls in their four-inch stiletto heels looked like they would die in the heat. Even though it was winter, we were the geographically lowest Panem district, so even our winters were balmy.

Finally, the man stopped talking and walked up to the glass balls. Girls held hands and squealed excitedly all around me. I felt quite alone. I had no one to hold hands with, to tell secrets to, to share life's joys and trials with. Not anymore. Was it possible to feel completely alone in a family of seven?

But I couldn't think like that. Papa had told me to be happy, to never change. I shoved the grief back down my throat and into the pit of my stomach, just as the Capitol man announced the contestant.

"Mirage Jenson!"

It was me! I was going to go to the Capitol! I had a chance at winning, earning a lot of money for my family, and some for myself so that I could continue to chase my father's dream for him.

I was going to win the Pageant, and I was going to find the Gilded Apollo butterfly for my Papa.


	6. District 5: Calypso Bell

**Innermuse A/N:** _I actually had a lot of trouble writing this one, so it's a little shorter than the others. I hope it's still good, though. Today's contestant is brought to us by Xylia Ren. Read on to meet Calypso Bell of District 5!_

I'd always had ADHD, but today was a bad day to have it. If it had come with an off switch, I would have taken that.

Freesia, my best friend, who wanted to be a makeup artist in the Capitol when she grew up, came into my bedroom without knocking early that morning. She was as good as family in our house; she never even knocked on the door anymore.

It was one of my hyper days, and I had about a dozen things spread all over my room, different projects and books half-finished and half-read. I looked up from the book I had just started, and closed it, not marking my page. I could always come back to it later, after all.

Freesia, grabbed my wrist and started pulling me out the door, talking faster even than I did. "Whoa, slow down!" I laughed. "What's all this about?

"Well," Freesia said, taking a deep breath and starting over, "I just ran out of mascara, and I figured that while we're out, we should look for something totally cute for you to wear, too."

"The reaping isn't even coming up for six months," I said, not sure why she was talking about clothes now. _Speaking of which,_ I thought, _I should probably clean up those clothes on my floor. Mom will have a heart attack…_

"Cally!" Freesia's voice drew me back into focusing on her. I blushed sheepishly. "Sorry," I apologized, "What did you say?"

"Don't tell me you forgot the selection is later this morning," she said, hands on hips.

"Selection?" I said stupidly, glancing out my window.

Freesia took both my shoulders and turned me toward her, that no-nonsense look in her amber eyes. "The selection for which District 5 girl will go to the Capitol for the Beauty Pageant?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed. We both stare at each other for a second, and then we laughed together. "Yeah, I'm an idiot," I chuckled.

"And judging by the state of your wardrobe," my detail-obsessed friend said, perusing the clothes on the floor, "you need a new outfit that just screams 'beauty queen'."

"You know best," I said. "Let's go."

A few hours later, Freesia and I strolled out of our favorite clothing stores (and one of the only clothing stores in our mainly industrial district). I was sporting a new silky turquoise frock with my black jacket, toque, and boots. Freesia's eyes were perfectly mascara-ed. I usually didn't focus on my appearance, but I felt right now that if I looked like this, I would probably stand a chance in a beauty competition. Freesia was seriously the perfect person to have as a shopping partner.

We got into the square and went into the section for sixteen year olds. We still had about five minutes before the actual selection, so Freesia and I just stood there bouncing back and forth from foot to foot, trying to keep ourselves warm. Okay, so maybe a dress wasn't the best choice for December apparel...

I kept on talking for the entire time, hardly breathing, and jumping from topic to topic erratically like a distracted puppy. Freesia just let me talk, nodding and laughing at the perfect times, like the perfect best friend she was.

Finally the Capitol person got up on stage. As he talked, Freesia gave me a full critique of his outfit, approving of the stenciled black art on the right side of his face, but otherwise disliking the ensemble. When the escort went over to pick a name from the glass ball, Freesia grabbed my hands and started hyperventilating (no joke).

The Capitol escort took a huge breath before announcing, "Calypso Bell!"

My head instantly turned to Freesia. It wasn't supposed to be me who got chosen. Freesia knew more about beauty pageants than I did; she actually _cared_. And now nobody could volunteer to stop me from going.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to her.

Freesia stared back at me. She blinked once. Then she averted her eyes, looking down at the ground, and said, "That's okay. I really didn't have a chance anyways."

"Freesia, I..." I had no idea what to say.

"Come on, Miss Bell. where are you?" I heard the escort say, a little impatiently.

"Go on, Cally," said my best friend, cold and frigid as ice, "Your fame awaits."

And so there was nothing I could do but leave my best friend for the stage, and get whisked away from the one person who had been a sister, as her heart silently severed from mine.


	7. District 6: Marlee Pendrail

**Innermuse A/N:** _Sorry for the slow update, but we've been preparing to move, so life has been crazy lately. But I'm not abandoning this story, so have no fear! This is my absolute favorite chapter so far! Notice the amazing cover? It's all courtesy of TheSwordofGodricGryffindor. Thank, darling! (Hint: The frosted rose is a hint of what's to come in the top secret final category. Stay tuned!) Alright, enough rambling! Today's tribute, Marlee Pendrail, is brought to us by The Katie Kat._

My best friend Jasmine has always said I'm the most nervous person she's ever met, and I'm pretty sure at this moment that she's right. I'm nervous, and a complete coward.

Jasmine stops suddenly right in front of me. I didn't realize how closely I was following her, and I practically slam into her. Jasmine looks behind her for a second, slightly annoyed.

"Relax, Marlee," she says, "we do this every year."

"Wrong," I correct her, stuttering, "y-you do this every year."

Jasmine rolls her eyes. "Oh, right, I forgot; you always chicken out and end up taking the half hour walk to the square instead."

I blink for a second, but then shrug. She's right. I'd rather show up really late to every reaping and big ceremony than risk my neck trying to pull this stunt to get there on time.

Jasmine shakes her head. "Why do you even come to the train yard with me each time if you know you're going to end up walking anyways? You'd probably save time if you actually started walking from your house."

"Because... I guess..." I start biting my nails, even though they're already down to the bud. "Ah, never mind."

"You're hopeless, Jinx," Jasmine says sadly, turning from me and facing the tracks again.

Jinx. I got that nickname because every time I'm on a sports team, I'm so afraid that the ball's going to hit me that I end up running from it. Thus, my team always ends up losing, so I'm known as 'the Jinx'.

I hear a train horn in the distance, and the faint sound of train wheels pounding the steel girders of the tracks. My heart flip-flops while Jasmine and the other kids start getting excited and approach the tracks. I hang back, nervously; no way am I doing what those other daredevils do. I know we live right on the edge of District 6, a half hour's walk from the square where the Beauty Pageant selection is happening today, but why do they decide to train hop to get there?

Puffs of smoke are in sight now, coming from the train getting ever closer. It's one of those really old models with open boxcars along it, because this part of District 6 can't afford the fancier, faster Capitol models yet. The other kids are building their energy up now, stamping their feet to keep warm, or doing stretches and jogging in place.

I am not going to hop the train, just like every year. I am going to be a coward who stands here, cold and alone, while I watch all the other above-average kids sail off in the boxcars, away from me. I'm the most average person you'd ever meet: average intelligence, average looks, and even below average abilities.

The train is so close we can see it now. The other kids let out whoops of excitement and some even start jogging ahead already. I've seen this at least twice every year, so I know exactly what they'll do. When the train is about to reach our spot, the others will start running as fast as the can. Getting close to the train, they'll take a running leap and launch themselves into the open boxcars, then help each other up. Anyone not fast enough, or who can't jump high enough, will either be left behind or crushed underneath the metal bars of the train.

I've never seen either of those happen, but it would be me if I tried.

All the kids are running now. The train whizzes past where I am, and quickly catches up to the other kids. For some reason, one of my feet goes in front of the other, and then I'm running, running, practically flying. I'm going to do it. I'm going to hop the train if it kills me.

Other kids are already jumping. I see Jasmine go sailing into the boxcar. an exhiliarated grin on her face, blond hair whipping sharply in the wind, she looks out of the car in my direction. Her eyes go so huge, and she screams something I can't hear.

I double my speed, legs burning, heart pounding so hard I fear it will suddenly stop. I pump my arms and legs and find myself catching up to Jasmine's car, by some miracle. I am pure adrenaline. I can sort of hear her now, and she reaches an arm out to me and screams, "Faster, Jinx! Just a little faster!"

Faster! I already feel like screaming with pain, and she wants me to go _faster_? I can't do it. I really think I can't. I almost falter, and then something whispers in my mind, _But this is your chance to be a lightning bolt instead of a jinx. This is your chance to finally do it._

Too terrified now to be afraid, I bunch my legs together and spring forward and to the side, aimed for the open door of the car.

My hands close around the metal bar just below the boxcar. I scream as I try not to flail my legs. The pounding of the steel wheels are so close, I feel like they could reach out and grab me, slamming me underneath them to beat me until I no longer resemble a human.

I scream again as my sweaty hands start to slip.

Suddenly, arms and hands grab me, and haul me upwards. I tumble into the boxcar, landing right beside Jasmine and two other girls I don't know. We're all panting so hard, and the others are laughing. i still feel like screaming, even though I'm safe now, but I force a laugh, and soon it's genuine.

I'm not brave, I'm crazy. And I finally did it.

I settle into the car, laughing, and let the train sweep me away to the square.

"You excited for the Pageant?" Jasmine asks me, sounding like she'll doze off at any second.

"Not really," I say, "I think it's just a shallow competition for girl's with no self esteem."

The other girls I don't know look up from their own conversation, seemingly surprised. Yeah, they're probably surprised that I actually spoke my mind for once. Even Jasmine opens an eye looks at me and then lazily closes it again.

"So, for girls like you?" she says.

Now it's my turn to be surprised. Me? In the competition? No way! I'm not at all pretty enough, or smart, or popular, or... or _anything_ that could help me win.

"No, I'd never win that competition. I'm just average," I tell her, "totally forgettable."

Jasmine suddenly sits up, fully awake. "See, that's your problem, Marlee!" she says, whispering, but practically yelling at the same time. "You don't believe in yourself. You're always putting yourself down, saying you're not good enough, or a coward. But you're not!"

"Really?" I counter, suddenly angry. "Then what am I?" Jasmine has no answer. I feel a hint of triumph. "Yeah, that's what I thought," I mutter. And I curl up into a ball, turning away from my friend and closing my eyes.

After all, if I can't see the world, maybe the world won't see me either.

When we reach the square, all of us jump off of the train. Even though I've never seen that done, it's easier than getting on. All you have to do is jump out, flinging your body as far away from the car as you can. For a few seconds, time seems to stop and you feel like you're flying. Then you hit the ground, and you tumble like a sack of potatoes until your momentum stops. It's still insane, but I like the feeling.

Jasmine and I walk into the square silently, but side by side. I hope she's forgiven me for my outburst on the train; I guess I'm scared of the Pageant, too. Just another thing to add to the list.

"Hey, Marlee, look!" Jasmine suddenly says, gripping my arm and pointing. A playful light is in her eyes. "There's Keiran!"

I look where she's pointing. Big mistake.

Kieran Matthews is actually the hottest guy in the school, and all the girls like him. I like him too, actually. Jasmine says that my kind of crush for him falls under the 'crazed, stalking fan girl' kind: you know, the kind where you feel like passing out or screaming or crying or starting a riot every time you seem him.

"Go talk to him!" Jasmine squeals.

"Ooooooh no," I say, putting my hands up protectively in front of me. "I can't talk to him. I can't even proper sentences form when him I see!"

Jasmine rolls her eyes, and we keep walking, entering the section for fifteen year olds. "Fine, but you should really ask him out."

Yeah, and cars can fly.

Our Capitol escort strides up onto stage. Unlike most Capitol people, our escort, Fantasia, is not bubbly or stupid. Instead, she is elegant and detached, mysterious and condescending. I have always thought she is higher-class than the other escorts. She doesn't even waste time on a speech. She just cuts to the chase and goes straight to the glass bowl that holds all the names of the girls of District 6.

For some reason, I tense up. I won't get chosen. There's no way.

Fantasia takes her time opening the slip. My heart beat picks up.

She wets her lips before speaking. I can't breathe.

"Marlee Pendrail!"

Me. It's me. My chest feels like it's caving in on me. I think, _I should go up on the stage now._

But instead the worlds swoops around me, and I feel so dizzy I know I'm not going anywhere. The ground comes up to meet me. Oh, it's comfortable. I close my eyes, slowly, and pass out.


	8. District 7: Flynn Lillison

**Innermuse A/N:** This may be the last time I update for the next few weeks, because I'll be moving and painting our new house, so please excuse me. I have not abandoned this story, but I may just be really slow at updating for a while. Today's tribute, the lovely Flynn Lillison, is brought to us by EmmaCrane. Read on, fellow fanfictioners.

_This could be a story,_ says a Voice in my head.

_Yes,_ some of the other Voices agree.

I'm about to drown, and still all they can think about is storytelling; figures. I slowly put my arms out into the water, and try to orient myself. I swish around as the air inside me grows thinner. My head feels light. Which way is up?

_I think it's that way,_ a Voice chimes. Clinging to the only hope I have, I flail my arms around, propelling myself forward and hopefully to the surface. My lungs are burning now, and the edge of my vision is black, like a picture frame.

Suddenly, my head bursts into real air. I open my mouth, but don't gulp air in wildly. I let it flow in slowly, savoring the feel of it, sweeping over my tongue and down my throat, bringing me new life.

"Thank you," I whisper to my Voices.

I hear abrasive, grating laughter from above, and I whip around even as I float, and look up. Some of the other kids from school stand there, towering many feet above me, laughing with each other, thinking they've gotten rid of me at last.

"Hey!" One of them catches sight of me, and points, aghast. The others stare, and, if they hadn't just thrown me off a cliff to drown me, they would look comical: mouths gaping, eyes wide, speechless. But the fact that this is the third time they've tried to kill me in a month makes it almost terrifying.

"How did you survive?" Drew, the ringleader, says, practically screaming at me. His face is almost purple with rage.

I simply smile in my sweet, calm way, and say, "I swam up."

The others sort of laugh at that. Drew is obviously offended, his pride hurt. Before walking away with his friends, he yells, "I'll get you next time. You're not immortal!" Then they're gone.

I swim to the rocks and pull myself onto the shore, shaking violently. I had almost forgotten it was December. Shouldn't I have died of cold in seconds in that water? Any regular person would have drowned.

_But you're not regular,_ the Voices remind me softly, _You have us._

I enter my room and stare at my reflection. Big green eyes, long red hair, and a pixie body all add up to my doll-like, almost childish appearance. Even in looks, I'm not like the other children of the District. While they're all more hardened and weather-beaten in appearance, I look small and delicate: like a fairy.

I decide to put on a thick black hooded sweatshirt, as well as tight flannel pants and tall boots. I flip the hood up and stare at myself again.

_You look nice,_ a Voice whispers kindly, even though I know they don't really mean it. They just don't want to hurt my feelings after I almost died again.

The mirror reminds me that I'm different from the others. I was born with my Voices, but I don't think the others have any. I'm airy and ethereal, and not good at making friends. I stare into the mirror, and it's hard to think of me, so tiny and frail, as intimidating, but I sometimes think the others are scared of me anyways.

_We're not scared of you,_ says a Voice that is very familiar.

_We love you,_ chimes another, somewhat similar.

It's Finley and Breeze, my boyfriend and sister, who only exist as Voices in my head now. Well, I suppose that's not entirely true: Breeze is still alive, but she is an Avox in the Capitol now. Finley, however, is dead. He died as a tribute in the 69th Hunger Games; I know because I watched. I watched as the girl from District 2, Glance, who ended up being the victor, drove a spear through his stomach—all the way through and out the other side.

I shudder and turn away from the mirror. Looking at myself is fine; it's when I _find_ myself that I stop.

I close the door behind me and head to the square.

Of course, I wasn't expecting that just minutes later, standing alone in the square, I would hear my name called and freeze. I had always thought that the whole 'beauty pageant' business was somewhat suspicious, but now I was forced to be part of it.

Here was another thing like the hatred of the others, or my loved ones' deaths. Here was another thing that I couldn't escape.


	9. District 8: Veca Mariana

**Innermuse A/N: **_District 8 already? The competition is practically upon us, my friends! Just for reference, "Ysa Ysa" is supposed to be pronounced "Jaw Jaw", with a bit of a Z at the beginning. This chapter's contestant, Veca Mariana, is brought to you by Claire- DaThug._

I hold back a snort of laughter as the idiot beside me sits back a little in her factory seat, stealing a secret moment of rest from the constant hum of the sewing machine before her. She closes her eyes and tips back in her chair a little, totally oblivious to the world around her.

Silently, I pull a sharp tack from my work and, in less than a second, have pinned one of her braids to the chair. Innocently, I go back to my work like nothing has happened. Well, I guess even that's true; the fun has just started.

The girl eventually sits up-or tries to. She's such a fool that she yanks her head forward three times, ripping at the hair follicles, getting rougher each time. Finally, her eyes smarting with tears, she gropes around behind her head to try and loose herself.

Biting my lip to hold back my mocking remarks, I keep my eyes fixed on the machine, acting like the drone of all the machines together is drowning her out.

The girl continues to struggle with the tack, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye.

Suddenly, her chair starts to tip over-the idiot didn't realize she was still leaning back. Even as she falls, I whip the tack out from her braid, and can't help but let out a slight chuckle. Won't that confound her; she falls over and then is magically free from her predicament, with no true idea of what exactly that was in the first place.

She slams onto the ground, and flails around for a second like a fish out of water. I bury my head in my work, lest I start guffawing right now.

Then I hear the heavy footsteps of an overseer, coming our way. The girl tries to stand up, but I dash a foot out in front of her and she crashes down again. Her nose is bleeding now, in a steady trickle down her face. Her eyes go wide as she realizes that the overseer is heading our way; if she's seen slacking instead of working, she'll be beaten, or even worse-fired.

I snap into action. Putting on my best concerned face, I put my arms under her armpits-ugh, she's sweaty!-and haul her to her feet. I grab her chair and she practically throws herself into it. We both bend over our machines again, fiddling with pins and fabric, as the overseer sweeps by us. As soon as he is out of sight, the District 8 tribute turns to me with huge eyes.

"Thank you," she whispers, "You put yourself in harm's way to help me."

"It wasn't nothing," I said, playing the bashful rescuer flawlessly, "I mean, what are friends for?" _Other than stabbing you in the back and taking advantage of your weakness,_ I thought.

We both went back to working, and I smiled. At least I still had a dummy beside me who would never know I was pranking her.

When I got home that afternoon, I went straight upstairs to my bedroom to get changed for the selection, ignoring my parents' and younger brother's cheery greetings from the living room.

Personally, I think the beauty pageant is some sort of trap. After having no victor, they wouldn't possibly let all the contestants get away. It's just stupid; I mean, can you imagine the Capitol saying, "Oh, you failed at every competition and lost miserably. Now go back to your family and continue to live your peaceful district life." It hasn't happened before and I'm very sure it won't happen now.

But as I root through my closet for something to wear (how ironic that in the district of clothing, I'm not able to find something appropriate to dress myself in), I can't help but think of what might happen if I get chosen this afternoon. How would I win this competition? I instantly know; manipulation and cunning. I'd act all sweet and innocent and friendly to all the other competitors, but at the same time I'd secretly be learning their weaknesses, and exploit them during the competition.

Finally, I find the perfect outfit. My mom bought it for me last spring because she thought it suited me. What a laugh! Light blue lace on a creamy white dress that reminds me of fresh, frothy milk. When I slip it on, it makes me look innocent and girlish, maybe even younger than my twelve years. My blue eyes look huge and deceptively darling, when paired with my button nose and little lips.

And I like it that way.

With a smirk, the kind of expression only my mirror has ever seen, I walk out of my room.

At the selection, I quickly get into the section for twelve year olds. Many of the other girls greet me, and I give them all endearing smiles and heartwarming laughs, like the doll I love to pretend to be.

All these idiots think they know me. But they couldn't be more wrong.

I am quiet and keeping to myself when, suddenly, someone is talking to me. I turn and can't help but grin to see the idiot that I played the prank on this morning. So she's twelve, too? Fancy that... I wonder if I can play another prank on her here.

She has brought a friend with her, and both of them are talking to me and each other. The girl, who told me her name is Ysa Ysa, smiles at me hugely. "Thank you again for helping me," she says. "I hate being embarrassed, and I hope falling out of that chair is the last embarrassing thing that happens to me today."

I put on a sweet, bashful smile, and answer, "You're welcome." Then an idea pops into my head, and I smile to myself. Oh, this will be good.

Ysa Ysa turns to her friend. "I fell out of my chair, and she helped me not get caught by the overseer."

"It wasn't anything," I say. _Except freaking hilarious,_ I think.

"What's your name?" she asks. "I forgot to ask you at the factory this morning."

"Veca," I say shyly.

"Thank you," I reply. _Yes, thank you for being such a good subject of pranking._

Just then, our Capitol escort-who is dressed up in a costume of scraps of fabric that looks totally idiotic on him-bounces onto the stage. He gives a long speech, and then goes to pull out the name. Just as he opens the scrap of paper, I open my mouth and squawk like a parrot as loudly as I can.

The sound echoes around the dead silence of the square, amplified by the apartments and tall buildings around us. Everyone looks at us, and I swivel my head to Ysa Ysa. I widen my eyes and part my lips, looking as surprised as everyone around us.

"Ysa Ysa!" I say as loudly as I can. "Don't interrupt the Capitol man! I mean, I know you like parrots and all, but can't this wait until later?"

The people around us burst into laughter. Ysa Ysa's eyes fill up with tears, and she turns to push her way away out of the crowd, crying. I feign concern by yelling, "Wait! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to yell!" but she doesn't come back, and I sneak a small chuckle to myself. The whole humor of the situation is driving me to guffaw out loud, but I don't dare; not with so many people around who could realize it was me.

The Capitol escort, looking very annoyed, _ahem_-s very loudly into the microphone. When the crowd settles down, he opens the slip and reads out the name.

"Veca Mariana!"

I smile to myself as I mount the steps. Oh, I _am_ going to win this-with all the pranks and backstabbing it takes.


	10. District 9: Lukha Nemse

**Innermuse A/N:** _I am soooooo sorry that I haven't updated in such a long time! I'm sure everyone's lost interest in the story by now. __**:(**__ Even so, I'm starting to have more time after my move, and I had a great idea when I woke up for this character. So here she is: Lukha Nemse of District 9, brought to you by AstridThorsBambino!_

I walk through the field of dull brown barley, stretching out both my arms, letting the prickly stalks brush my arms and scratch around my neck, dropping snow around me. I carefully plan each step as I take it: lift leg, extend, put down your foot, lift the other leg...

Finally I reach where I am going. A hill rises in the middle of the field, bare of grain but covered in slushy snow, and hardly showing over the tall cut stalks surrounding it. I quicken my pace and head around it to the side that faces away from the town. Then, ducking, I head inside the gaping hole masked loosely with stalks and snow.

I turn to my left just as I enter the tunnel, grabbing a flashlight from the basket. I throw the beam around the walls as I walk, thankful that it's lighting my path. As I descend deeper into the tunnel, and farther underground, I feel the temperature around me. Soon the air around me is so cold that my air makes a cloud in front of my face.

This is the perfect place for my father's secret beer factory. I'm quite proud of him, really. He was so smart to find this unknown tunnel, with a cave that leads down into a huge underground cavern. After he was fired by our neighbor, a wheat farmer, he determined to find a different way to survive, and it seemed that an underground, illegal, musty beer industry was better than a non-existant one. Thus, Nemse Beer Ltd. was born.

When I emerge into the cavern, I'm nearly at the top of the cavern. It actually extends much farther down- about a hundred feet. From below I can hear the whirring machinery, and the smell of both barley and alcohol blends together beautifully.

On another platform far away, I can see Dad conversing with another buyer, a past victor from the Hunger Games who wants to forget his troubles for a while. He's a frequent customer of this place, as any alcohol aboveground is practically illegal.

My dad and the victor shake hands, and the victor disappears back into the tunnel he is closest to, probably the one that leads to the Victor's Village.

I run toward my dad and wrap him in a bear hug. My dad staggers back a step or two before taking my shoulders and pulling me back from him. His grey eyes look at me carefully. I like his eyes, especially because they are also mine.

"What are you doing here, Lukha?" he asks. "You should be getting ready for the selection."

"I am ready." I smile and pull fully away from him, twirling around so he has a good view of my outfit. It's a silvery-grey dress with a thick black hooded jacket over it. I also curled my hair, because it was just wavy this morning, and I wanted it to look a little more put-together.

In spite of himself, my father smiles. "You look like a princess," he said, "A snow princess."

I kiss him on the cheek. "Then you are a king, Dad," I say.

"Your smile is just like your mother's," he says. He is still smiling, but it is a sad smile. "Melts my heart every time."

I stop grinning for a moment at the memory. My mother starved to death two winters ago, when my father had just been fired and was trying to find employment. Just a week later, he found the big cavernous space underground, and the idea for the factory was born. I've never been starving since.

"But the selection is still soon," he said, getting back to the point.

"I just wanted to say good-bye to you," I say, "I mean, even if I don't get chosen, I'll still be gone all day at the after-parties."

"I'll see you tomorrow then?" he says, raising an eyebrow in that way that means he expects a yes.

I pause for a moment, pretending to contemplate this. He widens his eyes a little bit, and then we both laugh. "Yes," I giggle. I kiss him again on the cheek quickly and then run back to the tunnel I came through. "Bye, Dad! I love you!" I yell over my shoulder.

As I walk along the roads to the square, it starts to snow. I like how the big, wet flakes look, drifting through the air. They feel cold and tingly as they land on my neck and hands. I shiver delightfully at the sensation.

When I get to the square, I stop in silence, staring. There is a young couple, only about eighteen, holding hands and kissing. I can't help staring; after all, I've never really known what it's like to be in love. I kind of want to be in love. It seems so nice. And if I ever get married, I know who I'd want to marry: someone exactly like my father.

The two break apart and the girl waves to him, beaming, as she takes her place with the group of eighteen year old girls. I join the seventeen year old girls and look up at the big clock in the square. It's still five minutes until the selection ceremony will start.

I entertain myself by people-watching. I count the number of people around me with light hair compared to dark. Most of them have light hair. I compare people with straight hair to curly, and almost all of them have curly hair, although I recognize a few who usually have straight hair.

Suddenly, I hear my name whispered behind me. I turn my head just slightly and see two girls in my section looking at the back of my legs and talking discreetly to each other. My face flushes with embarrassment; they have obviously noticed my scar.

I got the scar only a few months ago, so it is still quite prominent. It was one of those rare times when I was on the ground of the beer factory cavern, close to the machinery. I saw my dad and started running to him, the same way that I did this morning to hug him.

Suddenly, one of the whirring pieces of the machinery broke loose from its belt. The piece whipped out at me. I remember my dad screaming my name and running at me. I tried to dodge the sharp metal, and I'm fast, so it didn't impale my abdomen, like it would have if I hadn't moved. But it scratched right down the back of my thigh, and I'm now left with this scar.

The girls talking about me notice me looking at them, and they blush, ashamed. They quickly turn around, as though they never talked about me. I turn away from them, too, giving them a last glare even though they're not even looking at me anymore.

Just then our district escort comes on stage. She's silver all over-eyes, hair, nails, lips, skin, outfit. She's so grey-white that she almost disappears in the drifting snow. Her eyes also seem unnaturally large, so I avoid them at all costs.

She has an airy, wispy voice that is all but lost in the sounds of the square. Finally, she goes to the ball full of the names of all the girls in the district. She selects a piece of pink paper from the bowl and then returns to the microphone.

"And the lucky contestant for the Princess of Panem Beauty Pageant is..." She pauses for drama, her eyes slipping over the crowd. She grins with an open mouth, and my stomach does a flip inside of me. Her tongue and teeth are silver.

Then I watch her mouth, and everything seems to go silent as her lips form the name; "Lukha Nemse."

I'm the District 9 contestant for the Beauty Pageant! What a shock Dad'll have when he gets home tomorrow morning...


	11. Dsitrict 10: Aela Blackthorne

**Innermuse A/N:** _Thanks so much for your support, guys! I'm so happy every time that I see someone review... it always makes me want to post a new chapter (hint, hint!). Anyways, the District 10 selections are brought to us by TheSwordofGodricGryffindor. (You're the best, Bekah!) Please give a warm welcome to your newest contestant: Aela Blackthorne!_

I pant and tighten my grip on the tree branch, then look back over my shoulder to the ground. Kliff is grinning up at me. He betted that I couldn't get an egg from the mockingjay nest up on the top branch, and he can see my hesitation.

"You scared, Aela?" he teases me now, cupping his hands around his mouth so I can hear him better.

"You wish!" I yell back, and continue climbing. It's slow going, but at least it's winter, so I don't have a bunch of stupid leaves waving in my face. I can clearly see the nest through the branches ahead.

Now I'm just two branches away from the nest. Suddenly, I hear a flutter of wings, and a black wing with a white stripe flashes past my ear. The mother mockingjay! She perches on the edge of her nest, her beady black eyes surveying me, judging me to be a threat or not. Her long, thin beak glitters in the winter sun, and I can't help but gulp; she could poke my eyes out with that thing in a second.

"Aela!" yells Kliff, although his voice is much fainter now. "Get away from there!" I would ask him what the catch is, but then his voice drifts up: "The bet is off! Get out of there!"

I don't have to be told twice. As much as I love animals, a mother mockingjay can become quite territorial when it comes to their babies. Quickly, I begin shimmying back down the tree, but this obviously startles the mother. With a huge flap of her wings, she follows me, landing on the branch above me, as though ushering me down. I look over my shoulder, and Kliff's mouth is wide open.

"What's it doing?" he asks, bewildered.

"I... I don't know," I answer. I go down a few more branches, and the bird follows me.

"Just keep on doing whatever you're doing!" Kliff coaches.

"I'm not doing anything!" I yell, climbing down faster now.

"Exactly! Keep doing nothing!"

I roll my eyes and am finally close enough to the ground. I let go of the branch and jump, landing firmly on the ground. I am about to turn to Kliff and walk away with him when I hear the mockingjay fluttering its wings again. Suddenly, sharp claws dig into my shoulder, and although my first instinct is to shriek and pull away, I force myself to be silent.

The mockingjay is on my shoulder.

Kliff stares at me with his mouth open. "Well?" I say impatiently, "Are you going to help me get this thing off my shoulder or not?"

"I don't think I need to," Kliff says slowly.

"What?" Now my mouth is open. "You know, you may be my brother, but it's not much use being my relative if you won't even pick up a stick and hit a bird for me."

"No, no," he says. "It's like... the bird is protecting you..."

"You've got to be kidding me." If the motion wouldn't scare the bird, I'd slap my forehead. Instead, I just roll my eyes.

"Sing to it," Kliff says suddenly.

"Uh... there's a slight problem with that idea, Kliff..." I say. "I'm not a good singer!"

"You're fine!" Kliff rolls his eyes. "What do you think it is, a choir director? If anything, it'll scare the thing away."

I stare at my brother for a second. If he's right, our problems are over. If he's wrong... well, I guess I can still rake the garden with only one eye.

With a deep breath, I open my mouth and start singing. a District 12 song that my mother taught me.

_Deep in the meadow  
Under the willow  
A bed of grass  
A soft green pillow_

I pause for a moment, wondering what the effect will be. The bird has gone completely still. Then, I hear my notes echoed in clear, high form, right beside me. Kliff is grinning like crazy. Once the bird has finished my song, it spreads its wings and, brushing the side of my face with its soft feathers, it returns to its nest.

Kliff and I watch it, and then stare at each other.

"That was spooky," I say.

"Yeah," Kliff says, dazed, "Bloody brilliant, but spooky. Let's get back home before Mom sends out a search party. After all," he continues as we begin to head back through the pastures toward our old farmhouse, "you still have to get ready for the Pageant Selection."

My forehead creases as we go through a wooden fence and run past a grazing cow. "I _am_ ready."

Kliff looks at me, then bursts out laughing. "What?" I say defensively. My plaid shirt and jeans aren't ripped or anything, and my hair is still in its ponytail.

"You're going to go looking like that?" he asks, chuckling.

"Yeah," I say. "I mean, there are tons of girls in District 10. I'm not exactly likely to get chosen."

"Ah, I'm just razzing you," Kliff says. He tousles my hair. "You look great, Sport."

"I'm glad," I say impishly, "cuz if not, I'd have to kill you!" Then I try to jump up and tousle _his_ hair. He nimbly avoids me and I land in the snow with a graceless _plop_. He starts laughing at me, and begins running back to the house. Smiling and laughing myself, I happily follow.

About fifteen minutes later, Kliff and I have headed to the square for the selection. He punches me in the shoulder good-naturedly and then goes off to join his buddies at the side. I search for my friends, Kurtis and Kristin, and find them.

"Hey," I say, walking up to them as they talk, "I just realized that all my friends' names start with K's."

Kristin laughs. "Nice observation, Aela." She looks down at my clothes and smiles. "I see you're wearing your finest."

Smiling, I turn in a circle. "Only the finest for the Capitol," I chuckle.

Kurtis smiles at Kristin as she laughs, and my heart sinks into my stomach. Kurtis and I had been best friends since before either of us could use a pitchfork. Then, a year or two ago, Kristin moved here from another part of the District. It was love at first sight for the two of them.

So, of course, it should be pretty obvious that I had to like Kurtis too.

It kills me not to be able to talk to either of them about it, but at least I have Kliff. He's my number one confidante. I can tell him anything and I know that he won't breathe a word of it to a single soul. In turn, I listen to his rants against the Capitol and don't shush him, even when he's going way out of line.

It's not like we talk against the Capitol right in front of Peacekeepers or anything; we're always careful to only use that sort of talk out in the pastures where we're sure the Capitol hasn't planted any bugs. But even then, we always survey our surroundings before we open our mouths.

Just then, the Capitol escort, a man with green snakeskin tattoos and poison green eyes comes up on the platform. He smiles with his forked tongue, and I can't help but shiver. Ugh, the things people in the Capitol will do for supposed beauty... like holding a pageant.

I really hope that I don't get chosen.

"The time hasss come to ssselect a sssensssational little girl for the honor of represssenting Dissstrict 10 in the firssst ever Princccesss of Panem Beauty Pageant," he hisses with an eerie voice.

He moves in a slithering way over to the glass ball. As he chooses a paper and returns to the mic, I loathe the idea that my name could be in his slimy hands, gobbled up by his greedy snake-like eyes...

"Aela Blackthorne!"

I can't go to the Pageant! I don't know a thing about makeup or hair. I'm not even pretty!

But, of course, I can't do anything except walk up the steps and face the rest of my District, flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and terror. Now all of Panem will be able to watch my crash and burn.

Just great.


End file.
